


The Switch

by DandyboyDaniel



Series: Stiles And Derek Do The Thing [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Not compliant with anything canon anymore, Sexual Humor, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandyboyDaniel/pseuds/DandyboyDaniel
Summary: There was a spot behind Stiles’ knee that worked like an on-switch.  When Derek would stroke it gently, kiss it, or even so much as breathe hard on it, Stiles would go all boneless.  Now that Derek and Stiles had progressed to an actual relationship, however secret and somewhat undefined that relationship was, Derek had been free to explore that once mythical magic button behind Stiles’ knees. Stiles and Derek had fondly termed that dip behind the knee, The Switch.Sequel to "The Message".





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Message](https://archiveofourown.org/works/631709) by [DandyboyDaniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandyboyDaniel/pseuds/DandyboyDaniel). 



> I began writing this at least 3 years ago, soon after writing The Message. I thought I could never do better than The Message, so I had let The Switch just fall to the wayside. Finally posted it, 3 years later.
> 
> It should be noted that this had been written after watching only 2 seasons of Teen Wolf. I haven't watched much beyond season 4.
> 
> Special thanks to A, always my Sterek-loving buddy and good friend. You know who you are.

There was a spot behind Stiles’ knee that worked like an on-switch. When Derek would stroke it gently, kiss it, or even so much as breathe hard on it, Stiles would go all boneless. Well, boneless, except for his boner.

 

Derek had known about Stiles’ behind-the-knee thing since the days when sexting was all they would allow themselves to do. Back then, it had been something Derek would obsess over – every hint of knee that Stiles had shown would make Derek wonder what would happen if he dared to reach out and touch that secret place.

 

Now that Derek and Stiles had progressed to an actual relationship, however secret and somewhat undefined that relationship was, Derek had been free to explore that once mythical magic button behind Stiles’ knees.

 

Stimulating that spot had become such an easy way to completely unravel Stiles, who was already rather easy to undo, that Derek wondered if Stiles’ reaction to being touched behind the knees had evolved into a conditioned response. Just like Pavlov’s dogs had salivated from the sound of a ringing bell which they’d learned to associate with the presentation of food, so had Stiles’ body learned that a touch behind the knee meant that orgasm was imminent. But instead of salivating, though Stiles had probably done a lot of that anyway in the course of making out with Derek, Stiles’ cock would get hard and his muscles would relax in anticipation.

 

Stiles and Derek had fondly termed that dip behind the knee, _The Switch_.

 

_-1: The Popliteal Fossa-_

 

“I wonder if my knee thing is a fetish with a weird name, like _Acrotomophilia_ ,” Stiles pondered, still somewhat breathless, “which, by the way, is a sexual fixation on amputees.” He quickly added, as if to absolve himself of any sin, “Don’t ask me how I know that.”

 

Derek pierced Stiles with an expression that was devoid of all amusement.

 

Rather than give pause, Stiles continued, because it would take so much more than a look to shut him up nowadays. He rationalized, “It’s got to be, right? I mean, if intercrural sex is a thing, then behind-the-knee sex must also be a thing.”

 

Of course, Stiles had been wondering about this at the most inopportune time. He and Derek were lying naked in bed, recovering from some truly mind-blowing orgasms that had been detonated by mutual masturbation and some behind-the-knee petting. Stiles’ head was resting on Derek’s heaving chest, cradled under Derek’s arm. Derek was content to stay in this position, but knowing Stiles, the guy just had to know right fucking now.

 

“Let me just… I’ll only be a few…” Stiles weakly attempted to sit up, uselessly attempting to break free from Derek’s death-grip-cuddle to get to the laptop on the desk.

 

“God,” Derek huffed exasperatedly, “don’t you ever stop? At least let the spunk cool before you get up.”

 

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll tell everybody that Derek Sourwolf Hale likes to snuggle,” Stiles threatened.

 

Derek was unfazed, but relented because this was Stiles – _his_ Stiles - and he couldn’t help but give the kid anything he wanted. He heaved a resigned sigh and reached for his iPhone on the bedside table.

 

“Here, use this.” He handed the device to Stiles.

 

Stiles let out a small, pleased gasp like a child who had been given a lollypop. “Ooh can I use Siri?” he asked.

 

Derek sighed again, wearily, rolling his eyes, “Yes, Stiles.”

 

Stiles poised the phone near his mouth and said, “Hey Siri,” with the inquisitive cadence of someone having a conversation with a real person. The mobile device chimed pleasantly, signaling that it was ready for voice commands. “What is it called when people get off on having the back of their knee touched?”

 

The phone chimed again and processed Stiles’ words. It returned with a stiff, emotionless, computerized woman’s voice, “ _I’m sorry. Derek. I’m not quite sure what you mean.”_

“Too many words,” Derek reprimanded.

 

“So I’ve been told many times before.” Stiles tried again, clearing his throat first, and over-annunciated, “What is the name for a behind-the-knee fetish?”

 

_“Let me check on that... Maps cannot find the neighborhood Blind Burmese Catfish. Would you like me to search the Web for the neighborhood Blind Burmese Catfish?”_

Stiles seemed entirely too amused by this as he shook with laughter in Derek’s arms. Derek snatched his phone back and spoke succinctly into it, “Search Web. Knee Fetish.” He shoved the phone towards Stiles after _Safari_ opened with a list of websites about fetishism.

 

Stiles found that a knee fetish was an actual thing, but no name seemed to have existed for it. It could be filed under _Partialism_ , which was sexual arousal by specific non-genital body parts. _Wikipedia_ also revealed that the medical term for that part of the body was the _popliteal fossa_.

 

Stiles repeated the words _popliteal fossa_ several times, each with a different pronunciation, trying them on for size.

 

Derek wanted to drop-kick Stiles in the _popliteal fossa_ right about then and had begun to think that the more Stiles talked about it in an academic way, the less Derek would’ve been inclined to indulge Stiles’ fetish ever again.

 

But doing that would have killed Derek’s sex-high even further and he was already barely hanging on to those wispy threads of afterglow.   “Alright, you found your answer. Now put the phone down and go to sleep,” Derek commanded gruffly.

 

“Wait, one more thing,” said Stiles, unwilling to relinquish the phone just yet. “Siri, Search Web. Neighborhood Blind Burmese Catfish.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_-2: Having an Affair with the Milkman-_

 

On the night that Derek made Stiles come solely by stimulating The Switch, all the other firsts that had occurred were completely overshadowed by this one strange but wonderful act.

 

At that point in their sexual exploration, Stiles was still a virgin in the sense that he’d never had full-on sex. It was ridiculous to call Stiles a _virgin_ though, since he and Derek had done so much to each other short of penetration over the last two months. So many dirty, delicious, devious things.

 

Stiles had preferred to make out in his own house while his dad was at work rather than doing it at Derek’s house. At Derek’s, there had always seemed to be at least one other werewolf present with superhuman senses who could have unwittingly heard their shenanigans. Derek didn’t often agree, since the thought of getting caught screwing around with the underage son of Beacon County’s sheriff by Sheriff Stilinski himself was apparently much more of a turnoff.

 

But that night, Stiles had convinced Derek to come over by telling him that his dad had never, in his long career history, come home early unexpectedly from his overnight shift at the station. Stiles would not have been so well versed in masturbation and online porn had his dad ever done otherwise. Derek had even agreed to spend the night and Stiles hadn’t known if it’d been a testament to Derek’s trust in him, or to the fact that Stiles’ masturbatory expertise was so damn obvious. It had likely been the latter.

 

Stiles was fresh from the shower, wrapped in a towel from the waist down, when Derek arrived at his house, knocking on the back door. Stiles inwardly swore at Derek’s punctuality and flit between his drawers and the door of his room several times, wavering on whether to let Derek in first or to put on clothes.

 

The knocking on the aluminum screen covering the back door became insistent. So Stiles decided to forego the clothes and rush downstairs, cursing at the cold tile of the kitchen floor as he tiptoed swiftly to the back door.

 

“Back door, huh? Way to make me feel like a housewife in the 1950’s having an affair with the milk man,” Stiles jibed.

 

Derek didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile. He just stared intently into Stiles’ eyes, letting his glance fall once to glimpse Stiles’ state of undress. “Your dad still not home?” Derek asked.

 

“Nope,” Stiles replied, letting the end of the word pop with his lips. “Won’t be until seven AM.”

 

“Good,” said Derek, never altering his completely unaffected expression.

 

Before Stiles could step aside to let Derek in, Derek’s body hit Stiles’ like a charging quarterback, lifting him off his feet as their lips collide. The towel dropped upon impact. Stiles hooked his arms and legs around Derek, who was already doing a sufficient job of carrying a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound teenage boy by his bare ass. And, _oh my god_ , had it been a _fan-fucking-tastic_ idea to answer the door in nothing but a towel.

 

As Derek hauled Stiles up to his room, Stiles was amazed at Derek’s agility as he navigated through the house and up the stairs while never letting their lips part except for the occasional desperate gasp for air. Derek deposited Stiles a bit too carelessly on his bed and Stiles had to bite back a pained groan when he landed on his wrist in an awkward way. Derek didn’t miss anything, though.

 

“You okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned.

 

Stiles forced a smile, not wanting to stop the momentum. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uhm, take your clothes off, okay? I feel too naked. Not that you being naked would make me less, uh…” Stiles paused to ogle Derek’s muscles rippling as he wrenched off his t-shirt, “…naked.”

 

No matter how many times Stiles had seen Derek’s unclothed body in all its firm, glistening glory, he always stopped to marvel at it, to relish the fact that Derek was naked for _him_ to touch and to kiss and to explore.

 

Stiles moaned in appreciation as Derek’s ten-and-a-half inch dick sprang forth from the confines of deliciously too-tight clothing when his jeans and boxer-briefs finally came off.

 

“God, that’s a lot of cock,” Stiles breathed out, both reverently and panicked as his eyes gravitated away from Derek’s other beautiful body parts, down to his gorgeous erection. He hadn’t been sure how far they would go that night, but doing anything to Derek’s monster cock had always been a feat, a feat he’d still been learning to deal with.

 

Derek dropped to the bed on his knees to straddle Stiles at the waist and to rub the length of his thick cock with his palm. He purred, as if the dirty picture he made above Stiles wasn’t hot enough to melt metal, “I’ve been hard all day thinking about this… About you.”

 

It was still all so unbelievable that Derek Hale wanted him. Stiles still thought that he would blink one day and Derek would disappear, having been a figment of his over-active teenage imagination. So he had always made a point of never closing his eyes when he could help it. Right then, Stiles could definitely help it. Watching Derek was like watching porn. It hadn’t fully registered in his brain that he was slowly stroking his own cock until Derek snapped him out of his reverie.

 

“Yeah, touch your dick,” Derek whispered breathily, hot, and filthy, “Shit, if you could only see yourself. So fucking beautiful.”

 

Only Derek could induce Stiles’ full-body blush. “Oh my god, stop looking at me like that,” Stiles groaned, feeling everything going warm up to the tips of his ears. He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, as if it would really hide the pink flush spreading over every vascular surface of skin. He would bet that even his ass cheeks were blushing.

 

Derek bent down over Stiles, not quite letting their bodies touch. Stiles felt Derek’s warm breath behind his ear. “Looking at you like _what_?”

 

Stiles mumbled into the pillow, “Like you want to eat me.”

 

Derek was swiftly upon him and suddenly Stiles was completely enveloped in hot skin and tight muscle and warm breath. He could feel the length of Derek’s cock pressed against his inner thigh, and his instinct was to tense-up all over to keep out the monster. Never mind that Stiles was actually okay with letting in the monster. It was probably too soon in their relationship for that.

 

Stiles gripped his pillow and twisted his neck to look over his shoulder and quirk a brow at Derek. “Shit, are you going to eat me now?” he teased.

 

“If you want me to,” Derek answered before licking between Stiles’ shoulder blades, causing Stiles to shudder with pleasure.

 

“I didn’t mean… _nnyuh_ ,” Stiles began to attempt an explanation, but became distracted by Derek’s mouth making a wet trail of biting kisses down his spine, forcing out moans that punctuated his words. “I wasn’t asking you to, uhm… do _that_. I was just kidding, but… _fuck_ , _Derek_ … but if you’re thinking about… _oh_ , _shit…_ what _I’m_ thinking about, you can totally… _oh fuck, yes._ ”

 

There was no need for Stiles to clear up the inadvertent innuendo because he was fucking _loving_ the way Derek was interpreting it. Stiles didn’t have time to feel self-conscious about this first foray into rimming because it was happening. It was really happening right fucking now, and Stiles couldn’t help but reach back and grab at his ass cheeks as Derek’s tongue lapped teasingly at the furrow of his ass.

 

“You filthy little thing. Yeah, spread yourself open for me,” Derek encouraged with a low, sultry voice. Stiles loved when Derek spoke to him like this – all dirty and commanding, as if they were starring in some bad porn. But it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Bad porn was still fucking awesome even when there was cheesy dialogue. And Stiles had always known that he really liked the filthy dialogue he shared with Derek, as cheesy as it may have been.

 

Stiles could feel the wet, warm, fleshy tip of Derek’s tongue swirling and proding at his puckered entrance. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, a sensation he had never been able to achieve while masturbating, even with a lubed-up finger. Though it felt absolutely divine, Stiles’ body was still rigid with instinctive apprehension. Anything new had made his body taut, so strong was Stiles’ anxiety over not screwing up and potentially embarrassing himself in front of the hottest guy he could ever hope to have.

 

Derek likely sensed Stiles’ tension, as confirmed by his words of reassurance and a hand caressing along the curve of Stiles’ back, “Try to relax, Stiles. No pressure. I won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

 

Stiles responded weakly, in an almost desperate whimper, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I really like it, though. Like… really, _really_ like it.”

 

“Okay, well, let me loosen you up,” Derek suggested tenderly as his wet lips migrated from the swell of Stiles’ ass to the back of his thigh, all the way down to…

 

“Holy hell dear mother of god!” Stiles cried out, voice cracking embarrassingly, as Derek licked behind his right knee.

 

The Switch was flipped.

 

White sparks flashed behind Stiles’ heavy eyelids and he fleetingly wondered why he hadn’t let Derek try this before. All the tension immediately left Stiles’ body and mind. Derek continued to swathe the back of Stiles’ knees with his tongue, alternating between the left and right knee after blessing each with due attention. Derek turned Stiles into a fleshy mass of stimulated nerve endings with very little, if any, cognitive function. Like a jellyfish. An over-sexed jellyfish. Stiles fleetingly wondered if jellyfish even had sex. He rut against the bed, desperate for friction, as his spot was lavished with slow swipes and quick jabs of Derek’s talented tongue. Even Derek’s hot breath on the delicate skin drove Stiles crazy.

 

Soon Stiles was saying barely coherent things, like _don’t stop_ and _more_ and _please_ , though the words sound more like the bleating of a goat than human speech _._ His body started to go rigid again, this time with mounting pleasure and impending release.

 

He moaned, urging with anxious desperation, “Your cock, Derek, give me your cock.”

 

Derek halted abruptly, clearly shocked and not willing to comply. “But you’re not even prepared for it.”

 

Stiles vaguely realized that Derek thought he wanted to fuck.   Stiles, too far gone to clarify and reduced to cave-man language, demanded, “Dick. On the spot. Fuck my switch.”

 

It sounded so ludicrous while simultaneously deliciously dirty – _fuck my switch_. At another time and another place, they would have laughed – a time and place in which they weren’t so wrapped up in the kind of filthy, hardcore passion that Stiles had thought was only faked for porn.

 

Derek hesitantly shifted his position, trying to figure out exactly how to do the awkward thing that Stiles wanted.

 

“God, fuck, just do it,” Stiles pleaded agonizingly, literally so turned on that it hurt to be this aroused and this desperate to come. The back of Stiles’ right knee was still slick with Derek’s saliva when Derek’s cock slipped awkwardly into the dip. Derek, thankfully very nimble, managed to grind his dick against the spot as Stiles simultaneously fucked the mattress like the anxious teenager that he was. And though it was so very awkward, it felt so _un-fucking-believably_ good.

 

Overwhelmed by the complete and utter filthiness of what he and Derek were doing, drunk on the fact that this was actually something Derek had never done before with anyone but him, Stiles buried his face into the pillow and swore incoherently. The sensation of Derek’s cock against the wet crook of his knee was akin to being tickled to the point of having to piss himself – it was too much of a good thing.

 

But it was not Stiles’ bladder that had given in to the pressure of too much stimulation. Stiles felt a sudden tightness in his abdomen and a surge of warmth in his groin before coming hard, his whole body twitching with each spasm of his cock. He grunted inelegantly through his orgasm as the world went too-bright-white before his eyes and as all sound became a muffled ringing in his ears.

 

When the world started to come into focus again, Stiles rolled over to check that he hasn’t completely freaked out Derek before collapsing onto the bed. He gazed up at Derek with a stupid, sated smile on his face. Derek returned the grin, looking all too pleased with himself.

 

“Did you seriously come? Just from my cock touching _your switch_?” Derek asked, much too amused for Stiles’ liking.

 

Of course Derek knew Stiles had come. Stiles knew Derek had detected it in his racing heartbeat and had smelled it as his semen had shot out of his dick and ruined the duvet.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles managed weakly with a bashful grin.

 

“You didn’t even have to touch yourself,” Derek pointed out, incredulous.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes, being flippant to hide his utter humiliation. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

 

“Do you know what this means?” Derek asked with a glimmer of mischief and dangerous delight shining in his eyes.

 

Stiles knew what Derek was thinking - that a whole new kinky world had just opened up for them.


	3. Chapter 3

- _3:Virgin Sacrifice-_

“Only you would sprain your arm having sex,” Derek mused as Stiles rubbed his afflicted wrist.

 

Stiles’ bottom lip turned down in a slight pout. “Shut up. We weren’t having sex,” he insisted, “And you _threw_ me on the bed.”

 

Derek corrected him calmly, “I didn’t throw you. I dropped you. Believe me, if I threw you, you’d have more than a sprained wrist.” He carefully took Stiles’ wrist in his broad hand. “Let me see it.” He brought the underside of Stiles’ wrist to his lips, kissed it, and felt a surge of heat and blood through Stiles’ pulse point.

 

“You’re going to kiss it and make it better?” Stiles teased.

 

“Shut up,” Derek muttered. He closed his eyes and sniffed Stiles’ wrists to take his scent deeply into his nostrils, diagnostically identifying every nuance of the way the boy smelled. He smelled most conspicuously of semen, having just come profusely, and also of sweat and soap. There was a faint odor of blood cells and physiological chemicals that indicated Stiles’ body was healing – not in the supernatural way, but in the way that the average human does when it is hurt.   “Nothing’s broken,” Derek determined. “You just injured a tendon or a ligament or something. No fractured bones. You’ll be fine.”

 

Stiles’ brow furrowed skeptically. “Thank you, Doctor Hale. You can tell just from smelling me?”

 

Derek shrugged. “If you don’t believe me, you can go to the ER and tell them you think you broke your wrist trying to have sex with your boyfriend. They can X-ray it for you. Or, you can avoid embarrassment and trust me that you just pulled a muscle.”

 

The two of them examined Stiles’ wrist, still in Derek’s hand. Derek gently caressed it with his thumb and willed his body to absorb Stiles’ pain. Then Derek felt it. He felt the dull ache seeping into his veins and absorbing into his nerves before it dissipated and vanished. Stiles still had not known that Derek could do this. He was going to tell him one day. For now, Derek was happy to take the sting out of everyday bumps and bruises while Stiles was none the wiser and unable to stubbornly refuse.

 

Stiles smiled softly as Derek massaged his wrist gently. “Feels better,” he admitted with a quiet sigh. “You’ve got the magic touch or something.”

 

Derek shrugged. He was content to enjoy the tender moment without needing to take credit for it. Moments like these had once been rare, when being intimate meant kissing hard and dry humping until they were bruised. Their attraction had been so volatile that Derek and Stiles hadn’t known how to be gentle with each other back then.

 

Stiles muttered, “Boyfriend, huh?” The kid missed nothing and let nothing slide.

 

Derek could have done the silent shrugging thing again, but he knew Stiles would never let it rest. The word had just slipped out. They’d never explicitly called each other boyfriend. If circumstances had been a bit more favorable, if Stiles had been eighteen and not the son of a sheriff, and if Derek hadn’t once been a murder suspect, they’d likely have little problem regarding one another as boyfriends. But the reality of it was that their relationship was so secret and so illegal that their closest friends weren’t even allowed to acknowledge it. There had been awkward conversations about it. Scott had been furious at first. Derek’s pack had accepted it, but didn’t like it. It was just there. The elephant in the room that nobody wanted to talk about.

 

“Saying _my lover_ sounds so dirty. Saying _partner_ sounds like we’re married,” Derek tried to explain, feeling an odd sense of _deja vu_.

 

“Yeah, and we can’t call each other _fuck buddies_ because you won’t fuck me, so,” Stiles pointed out, not trying very hard to veil his bitterness.

 

Derek’s brow creased. “What makes you think I won’t fuck you?”

 

Had Stiles really not been paying attention? Was he that self-deprecating that he couldn’t tell that Derek wanted him? Maybe Derek was just too proficient at hiding just how much he wanted Stiles. Because the way that Derek wanted him was frightening. It was a deep, dark, carnal desire that came from his human soul, and a vicious, hungry lust that came from his wolf.

 

Stiles sighed and leaned back on the headboard of his bed, pulling the sheets over his still-naked body. “Every time I bring it up, you change the subject. When we’re making out and I tell you I want it, you make an excuse for why we can’t. I get it. You don’t want to have full-on sex with a sixteen-year-old… Which is kind of ridiculous, because your dick has already been on so many places around my body. Hell, parts of your body have been inside parts of my body. If I were on a pagan altar as a virgin sacrifice, the gods would be like, _seriously? Are you freaking kidding?_ ”

 

Derek pursed his lips and exhaled slowly through his nose. He reclined on his side next to Stiles on the narrow bed, propped up on an elbow. “It would be selfish and irresponsible if I let you do something you’ll very likely regret.”

 

“You can’t make that decision for me. You don’t know what I’ll regret.” Stiles was becoming defensive and argumentative, and Derek didn’t know how to do anything but exacerbate it.

 

Derek tried his best not to sound patronizing or condescending with his response. “I hate to pull the age card, but, I’m older, I’ve been through a lot more, and I just know you’ll regret it. I regret all the sex I had as a teenager. I regret losing my virginity to the people I lost it to. It would be cruel, knowing what I know, to let you make those same mistakes.”

 

“I understand that,” said Stiles, not sounding very empathetic, “Kate and Martin – those were some bad decisions that had some really shitty consequences. But what the Hell do we have to lose here, huh? You’re not going to jail for fucking me. We already talked about this extensively. I’m not saving myself for marriage, waiting for The One, or any of that fairy tale bullshit. I _want_ to have sex with you. You’re not taking advantage of me. And sex is what boyfriends do. Boyfriends have sex, Derek. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“But it should be, Stiles,” Derek argued firmly, “It’s your first, and it should be a big deal. You’re worth more than throwing your virginity at the first guy that’s attracted to you.”

 

Stiles fell silent and seemed to contemplate that fact. He lowered himself to meet Derek face-to-face. His expression softened and the argumentative edge to his voice began to disappear. “I could go to that lame gay club and probably find somebody who’s attracted to me enough to have sex with me. I’d probably have to lower my standards, but I could probably get laid. If it were just about getting laid, shit, I wouldn’t be a virgin anymore. But it’s not just about getting laid. It’s about being in love and wanting to give you everything.”

 

The look of adoration in Stiles’ eyes could have swallowed up Derek.

 

They didn’t often talk about love. Hell, Derek never talked about it. But right then, Derek knew that Stiles was sincere and that it was real for him. Derek felt a swooping sensation in his chest, like somebody had sucked his heart out through his mouth. He felt his stomach flip like he had just dropped twenty stories too fast in an elevator. God, the things a spastic sixteen-year-old kid could do to him. It was embarrassing.

 

Nothing else mattered except the two of them. But Derek wouldn’t admit it. He would never say it. For if the words ever left his mouth, fate would tear Stiles from his arms. But every part of Derek’s body and soul were saying it. His eyes said, _I love you, Stiles._ The sudden rush of blood in his veins said, _I love you, Stiles._ The breath caught in Derek’s throat wanted to say, _I love you Stiles._ He was paralyzed and his eyebrows practically knitted together with the effort of his silent internal struggle.

 

Stiles inched closer and raked his fingers through Derek’s hair. His leg hooked around Derek’s body to bring them into more intimate alignment. They were still naked and sweaty, and he could feel Stiles’ cock twitching back to life against his lap. “I don’t want you to fuck me. I never want it to be just about sex.” Stiles’ lips pressed against Derek’s so softly that it could barely be called a kiss. He whispered against Derek’s mouth and Derek couldn’t help but drink in his words, “Make love to me, Derek. It doesn’t have to be now. It doesn’t have to be soon. But when we do, I want you to make love to me.”

 

Derek’s lips parted and closed briefly upon Stiles’ before he succumbed in a whisper, “Okay.” His palm cradled the back of Stiles’ head as they kissed properly this time, and deeply so.

 

Stiles broke the kiss to mumble, a triumphant grin quirking his sly mouth, “But you can still say you’re fucking me, because that’s so much hotter.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

- _4: Little Red Running Shorts_ -

 

Derek was beginning to wonder if he’d been developing a fetish of his own. But could something really be called a fetish if Derek only got a rise out of _Stiles’_ knees rather than knees in general? Derek had never been attracted to Stiles’ knees before, but now he found them sexy. It was probably linked to his awareness of what he could do to Stiles just by touching that spot behind them. In fact, Derek had found it so damn sexy that he would get hard when Stiles wore shorts that ended above the knee. And then suddenly Stiles’ lacrosse socks had become sexy too because of the way they had draw attention to his knees. Hopefully nobody had noticed the creeper in the hooded sweatshirt that had been regularly watching lacrosse practice from behind the bleachers.

 

Of course, Scott and Isaac could always sense Derek was there, even if they didn’t always see him. Derek had insisted that he was just looking out for his pack in case the Alphas were inclined to pick them off on the wide, open lacrosse field like sitting ducks. It could happen. But he was not fooling anyone. Apparently, not even Stiles.

 

To everyone else, Stiles came off as the least seductive person on the planet. He acted like a clumsy virgin. But Derek had been on to Stiles’ game since the kid had first dared to play it by showing up at his house in track shorts after jogging through the woods six months ago.

 

It was _game-on_ at lacrosse practice.

 

Derek knew that Stiles was aware of his eyes. The little shit glanced in Derek’s direction and made surreptitiously lewd gestures with his hand sliding along the lacrosse stick. He turned his body strategically to sweep up the ball from the ground so that Derek could get a nice view of the backs of his knees and his ass.

 

Practice ended, and as always, Derek slipped away quietly, never acknowledging Stiles, Scott, or Isaac. He got into his car to drive away as the team hit the showers. But today was different. Derek had smelled sweaty teenage boy trailing behind him in the parking lot about a hundred feet back. He had heard the familiar jack rabbit heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He sat in his car with the keys in the ignition, waiting. Sure enough, the passenger door opened and Stiles bent down to peek in, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

 

“Hey, can you give me a ride? Jeep is in the shop.”

 

Stiles had changed into a pair of red running shorts and a t-shirt. Before answering, Derek’s eyes slowly appraised what Stiles was wearing and quirked a brow. “You’re kidding me,” he said wryly.

 

Stiles blinked, clearly taken aback. “Uhm, no?” He scratched the back of his neck and averted his eyes – one of Stiles’ many nervous ticks that Derek had become infuriatingly fond of lately. “If you have somewhere to go, that’s cool. I can ask Danny or something.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek reprimanded, “get your ass in the car. I wasn’t talking about driving you. I was talking about what you’re wearing.”

 

Stiles looked slightly alarmed. His eyes flit around himself as he pats his clothes, searching for something in disarray. “What? Is my shirt inside out? My shorts on backwards? I was kind of in a rush to get changed.”

 

Derek glanced down at the garment in question before he met Stiles’ eyes, biting back a smirk, “Those shorts.”

 

Stiles tried to act completely clueless, but Derek knew that Stiles was aware. “What?” Stiles asked defensively, though with a hint of amusement in the corner of his mouth, “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

 

Unlike Stiles, Derek hadn’t even bothered to hide his amusement. “Are you trying out for the cheerleading squad?”

 

Stiles pretended to be defensive. “Are you saying my shorts are girly? I’ll have you know that these are genuine vintage track shorts from the 1980’s.” His fingers smoothed over the satiny fabric. “They were my dad’s. Found them in the attic.”

 

“They’re short,” Derek stated pointedly, cracking a small smile.

 

“Uh, yeah, that’s why they’re called _shorts_ , Derek,” Stiled says slowly and patronizingly, emoting with his hands like a teacher trying to get a very complex concept across, “They’re supposed to be short.”

 

Derek grinned knowingly. “No, Stiles, they’re _short_ ,” he emphasized, putting extra weight on the _T_ at the end. Six months ago, Derek would have worried that he sounded like a pervert. These days, perversion is was as ubiquitous in their relationship as love notes and pet names were to conventional couples. Derek and Stiles were anything but conventional.

 

The bottom of the shorts hit Stiles’ leg around the upper thighs. He self-consciously tugged on them. “I guess so. But they’re not, like, slutty-short. They don’t say, _hey look at my ass._ They say, _look at me, I’m kind of a hipster and wearing 1980’s running shorts ironically._ ”

 

Derek snorted a laugh. “Okay, number one? You are the farthest thing from a hipster. Number two? Those shorts pretty much say _fuck me._ ”

 

Stiles made an odd, strangled, startled sound in his throat. “ _Fuck me_?” He repeated with indignant disbelief, “Excuse me, but just because a girl wears a mini-skirt, doesn’t mean she’s inviting perverts to grab her ass. The shortness of a garment does not intrinsically correlate with the willingness of the wearer of said garment to have sex. But even following that logic,” Stiles gestured emphatically to the hemline of his apparel, “these are not fuck-me-shorts. They’re about two inches longer than gay-club-go-go-boy shorts and an inch shy of bent-like-Beckham-soccer shorts.”

 

“You’re right, but” Derek rationalized as he rested his wrist on the steering wheel and casually gazed out the windshield, “that doesn’t change the fact that those shorts make me want to fuck you.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Stiles could have potentially interpreted it as a joke, which Derek had hoped was the case if Stiles did indeed find it offensive.

 

“Derek Hale!” Stiles gasped, scandalized enough to use his full name. But Derek could tell from the skip in Stiles’ heartbeat that this had been the response from Derek he had been going for when he’d chose to put on those shorts.

 

“Get in the car,” Derek said flatly, still staring straight ahead, unable to look Stiles in the eye after admitting how easily he’d been won by a stupid pair of shorts.

 

Stiles tossed his bag in the back and flopped into the passenger seat. He had such a smug grin that Derek reconsidered for a split second.

 

“If I knew all it took was for me to show a little leg, I would’ve worn these a long time ago,” said Stiles.

 

“Your switch is showing.” Derek teased as he started the Camaro.   It rumbled out of the parking lot while Derek listed everything, other than a little leg, that Stiles had been showing. “And you kept dropping the ball just so you could bend down to wiggle your ass at me. And you practically jerked off your lacrosse stick. And you didn’t shower.”

 

The corner of Derek’s eye caught Stiles still smirking.  “You smell my pheromones, huh? Guess I _am_ a slut.” He wasn’t being sarcastic. The little tart was actually proud of himself.

 

It was that unmistakable scent of sex, sweat, and teenage boy essence that drove Derek up the wall.

  
Nobody was at Stile’s house of course. It had been another overnight shift for Sheriff Stilinski. Derek was sure that Stiles had planned this strategically.

 

Stiles went up the stairs ahead of Derek. Derek kept a few stairs back so he could watch the way those shorts rode up every time Stiles brought his leg up to the next step. From Stiles’ slow ascent, Derek was also sure that this was deliberate.

 

When Stiles arrived at the top step, Derek reached up and placed a hand on the back of his extended knee. He caressed it as Stiles looked back at Derek over his shoulder. Stiles bit the corner of his bottom lip – it was a little bit coy, a little bit seductive – and it made Derek want to do things to those lips; made him want Stiles to do things with his teeth. Derek tackled Stiles on the stairs. It didn’t take much effort. He simply covered Stiles’ body with his and kept a hand on that magic spot, and Stiles went down, kneeling on a step with his forearms on the top landing, and moaned, “Oh god…”

 

Derek whispered hotly behind Stiles’ ear, “Fuck, I could eat you up in those little red running shorts.” He took a handful of Stiles’ ass and squeezed it.

 

Stiles made a low, closed-lipped groaning sound and tipped his head back. He pressed his ass against Derek’s lap and said, “Grandma, what a big bulge you have in your pants.”

 

Derek gave a small chuckle and nuzzled Stiles’ neck. “You’re sick.”

 

“Come on, you’re supposed to say, _the better to fuck you with, my dearie._ ”

 

Derek just repeated, “Sick,” and grinded gently against him, splaying his fingers inside the curve of Stiles’ knees.

 

“Alright. You won’t indulge my Little Red Riding Hood fantasy,” Stiles shrugged, resigned. “The whole Big Bad Wolf thing is too predictable, I guess.”


	5. Chapter 5

- _5: Squeeze the Reservoir-_

“Oh my god, you’re so _big_ ,” said Stiles breathlessly.

 

And in the same breath, Derek remarked, “Oh my god, you’re so _tight._ ”

 

Derek could barely cram three fingers inside of Stiles’ slicked hole. He wondered how he would fit all ten-and-a-half inches of his cock.

 

“Have you considered going back to being a bottom?” Stiles wheezed as he held his knee to his chest with one hand and stroked Derek’s hardened length with the other.

 

“We don’t have to do this at all, you know,” said Derek, kneeling between Stiles’ spread legs.

 

“Are you threatening me?” Stiles asked, panting, “You don’t get to tell me you’re gonna fuck me and then pull out. Both literally and figuratively.”

 

“I’m just saying. If you can’t handle it, we can do something else.” Derek didn’t pull away, but adjusted his position on Stiles’ bed to keep his arm from cramping.

 

“No, you’re going to fuck me,” Stiles insisted, determinedly, completely absent of romance or seduction, practically scolding Derek, “You’re going to fuck me and you’re going to like it.”

 

Derek smirked and hooks his fingertips slightly. “Oh, I know I’m going to like it. The question is, will _you_ like it.”

 

Stiles made an odd, keen noise in response to Derek’s little gesture, sort of like a bleating goat in heat. “Fuuuck… Prostate. Wow.” His eyes were screwed shut, seemingly in an intense sort of ecstasy. His cheeks were flushed pink with warmth.

 

Derek noted how hot Stiles felt from the inside and could not hold back a pleased moan of his own. “Yeah, you like that.” It was more of a smug statement than a question.

 

“Oh god yes.” Stiles nodded emphatically. “Fuck me. Fuck me now. Right now.”

 

There was very little doubt left that Stiles would in fact enjoy it. Derek slowly and carefully retracted his fingers from Stiles’ body, feeling the clenching muscles expel him. Stiles released Derek’s cock and let his legs fall to the bed. Derek could feel Stiles watching him as he rolled on the condom.

 

“Don’t forget to, um, squeeze the air out of the reservoir tip,” Stiles advised, nervously gesturing with his hands.

 

Derek wordlessly glanced from his lap to Stiles’ face with a look of disbelief.

 

“What?” Stiles muttered meekly, if a bit defensively, “That’s what they teach us in Sex Ed. If you don’t squeeze the air out of the tip--”

 

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted, “I know. It’s _your_ first time. Not mine.” He immediately regret how condescending it had sounded.

 

Stiles shook his head, held his palms up in a halting gesture, and sat up. “You know what? Forget it. Let’s stop right here. You’re absolutely right. It _is_ my first time. And you’re supposed to be making love to me. Not reminding me what a pathetic virgin I am.”

 

Derek had managed to ruin things with words yet again, so he shut up. He pursed his lips, held Stiles’ gaze with a pointed look, grabbed him by the thighs, and pulled Stiles towards him. The swift movement caught Stiles by surprise, causing him to fall back on the bed. Derek took Stiles’ ankle and rested it on his broad shoulder. He stared at Stiles unblinkingly. Stiles looked up at Derek with eyes that shone with excitement and fear. He could see the vein in Stiles’ neck throbbing rapidly and could smell his anxiousness.

 

“What are you going to do to me?” Stiles asked breathily. Derek knew it was more of a provocation than a question.

 

He didn’t answer. He turned his mouth to the ankle on his shoulder without ever letting his eyes leave Stiles’. He gently grazed the knobby bone of Stiles’ ankle with his teeth. As his tongue rasped over the skin and he tasted the salt of Stiles’ flesh.

 

Stiles repeated, trepidation making his whisper shaky, “Derek, what are you going to do?”

 

Derek leaned forward, draped himself over Stiles’ body, and folded his leg back towards his chest. Stiles hooked his other leg around Derek’s lower back, effectively keeping him in place. They were both still hard, evident by the insistent press of Stiles’ swollen cock against his own erection.

 

Derek pressed a teasingly chaste kiss upon Stiles lips.

 

Stiles groaned, low and soft and deep, “What are you doing?”

 

Derek answered with a soft brush of his lips, and then felt Stiles’ tongue seeking entrance. Derek’s lips parted easily, allowing Stiles to kiss him hard and wet. He could taste the teenage longing on Stiles’ mouth.

 

The leg on Derek’s shoulder afforded him perfect access to Stiles’ secret spot. He caressed it, mapping the curve reverently with his thumb, making Stiles’ back arch in ecstasy.

 

Stiles gasped softly, blissfully. With anxiousness straining his voice, he keened, “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

 

“I don’t know,” Derek feigned coy ignorance, “What do you want me to do?”

 

But he already knew what Stiles wanted. He could tell from the way Stiles’ leg entrapped his body, from the desperation of Stiles’ kiss, and from the way his fingers claimed the back of Derek’s neck, that Stiles wanted him – all of him. He could even smell the want emanating from Stiles’ pores, flavoring his skin with briny, carnal desire.

 

“You’re going to make love to me,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s mouth, domineeringly seductive, before kissing him wetly. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

 

Derek didn’t want to ruin the momentum with talk. Talk had always side-tracked them. So he conveyed his intentions wordlessly with his lips.

 

He broke the kiss abruptly to sit back on his haunches and smirked down upon Stiles, who gazed at him ravenously. He slicked his cock with more lube before swirling the slippery head against Stiles’ entrance, circling the puckered ring of muscle, making Stiles quiver with want.

 

Stiles’ breath hitched as he pleaded quietly, “Derek, please. Tell me.” It was evident from the way that Stiles was holding back his legs and eagerly moving along with Derek’s motions that he knew exactly what was happening. Stiles had been orchestrating it as much as Derek.

 

Derek closed his eyes and shuddered as he slowly let out a breath. When he opened his eyes, the sentiment that had been lingering hesitantly on the tip of his tongue escaped softly. “I love you.”

 

Stiles was speechless for a moment, blinking up at Derek. “Well, fuck,” he muttered.  

 

They stared at each other silently. Derek was frozen, inwardly panicking.   He wanted to cut out his own tongue for admitting this to Stiles. It had felt like the right thing to say at the time. Stiles had been egging Derek on, it seemed. Had he misinterpreted Stiles? Did he really just want verbal role-play?

 

Suddenly, Stiles reached up to pull Derek down for a swift, firm kiss. He mumbled against Derek’s mouth, “I love you too.”

 


End file.
